"Would you mind calling off that dog?" requested Forrester. "I want to have a chat with you." "About what?" she asked. "Oh, about yourself, and the oak tree, and what has been going on there lately." "I don’t know anything about it!" she snapped. "I’m sorry," said Forrester. "I thought perhaps you would know something about it." "What made you think that?" she demanded. Forrester immediately fell into Humphrey’s manner so far as he could recollect it. "I’m a reporter for the _Times_," he explained. "I have been assigned to write up a special feature article for next Sunday’s edition about this tree that the ’Friends of the Poor’ have been using, and the neighborhood. While scouting around I just now happened to discover your cottage. Naturally, it occurred to me that anyone living so near to the oak tree might know something about it." There is a certain glamour and attraction connected with reporters, newspapers and special interviews which appears to appeal to persons in all stations of life. Forrester observed that his remarks had had a very softening effect upon the negress. She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then turned and administered a kick to the dog. "Get out!" she cried, and as the beast slunk off into the woods she turned to Forrester. "Come in," she invited. Forrester had observed that though the woman’s voice was monotonous and expressionless in character, she used excellent English, without a trace of negro dialect. In her pronunciation, however, the slight accent peculiar to West Indian negroes was noticeable. Before the door had been opened Forrester had also noted that the cottage was a small one-story affair and as he now passed through the door he marked a partition, with a doorway, running across the center, and concluded that the interior of the cottage was divided into two rooms. As the negress closed the door behind him Forrester quickly scanned the room into which he had been ushered. This was about twelve by fifteen feet, and quite obviously served as both kitchen and sitting room. A small iron cookstove stood in one corner, a table occupied the center of the room, and a rocking chair and two straight-backed chairs of ancient design completed the furnishings. On a small stand in the window next to the entrance door stood an old glass aquarium, covered with wire netting. It contained no water, however, and Forrester discovered several small snakes slowly coiling themselves around on the gravel in the bottom. It instantly recalled to his mind that the Voodoo worshippers of the West Indies used snakes in their ceremonies. The woman crossed the room and seated herself in the rocking chair, but did not invite Forrester to sit down. He selected one of the straight-backed chairs, pulled it up to the table, and as he sat down drew out his notebook and spread it open on the table in an ostentatious manner that could not fail to impress the woman. "What is your name?" he inquired. "Lucy." "Lucy what?"